The Ghost Knight
by Scrambled-Dry
Summary: I didn't want any trouble when I stepped on that bus. I just wanted to find my cousin.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a Halloween special :) Hope to have it done on Halloween. It's a long ride (no pun intended).**

About halfway, the bus shuddered to a stop. A _horse_, a big black stallion, galloped right in front of the bus. The rider shot the doors, blowing off the driver's head. The driver slumped forward, moving the lever that controlled the doors. The rider somehow got the horse _on the bus_, tied the horse to the Disabled Section railing, then brandished a shotgun…at me. "You! Get up here and drive."  
"Yes, sir."

Driving a bus wasn't like driving a car, but having a gun pointed at your head sure makes you figure things out faster. The horse whinnied, but Scarecrow petted it.

"Drive to Lower Fifth."

"Yes, sir."  
He barked the usual orders to everyone else, then turned his attention to me. "So, why don't you tell everyone about yourself."  
"My name is Sophie LaLaurie, I'm nineteen, and I'm from New Orleans."  
"Why are you here?"  
"I'm looking for my cousin."

"Happy hunting. Ah, we've arrived at Lower Fifth. Drive on Lower Fifth."  
"Yes, sir."

"Well, aren't you polite? Where'd you go to school?"  
"Montessori through eighth grade, and I was homeschooled for high school."

"Sports?"  
"No sports, sir."

A gunshot rang out, and Scarecrow collapsed, blood leaking from his shoulder. I took out his other arm, and his left calf. "Don't kill him, we've all got victims and he's the only one who knows the real antidote." I flipped open my dumbphone and called 911.

_"911 operator, what's your emergency?"_

"A bus has been hijacked on Lower Fifth by Scarecrow, Scarecrow has three bullet wounds, and his horse is really upset, too. The driver is dead, no passenger injuries."

_"Stand by, emergency services are on their way. What is your name, ma'am? Are you a passenger?"_

_"_My name is Sophie LaLaurie, and I am a passenger, but Scarecrow forced me to drive." I heard sirens. "I hear sirens. Thank you."

I hung up. "Okay, every stay calm." I patted the horse, and it took a crap right on Scarecrow's head.  
Cops and paramedics swarmed the bus. I had mild tinnitus from the gunshots, but I was glad because I could just tune out the chaos. I spotted a mustachioed cop heading my way.

"Sophie LaLaurie?" He said kindly. "I'm Lieutenant Jim Gordon with Gotham PD. That was an amazing thing you did today. Gotham needs more people like you. You're from New Orleans, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir."  
"Any particularly reason why you're in Gotham?"  
"I'm looking for my cousin, Thomas Schiff."  
"One of Scarecrow's victims. Has he contacted you?"

"No. But sir, he wasn't doing very good in the asylum. He didn't know who I was. He knew who I was when I rescued him, though. And afterwards. He just couldn't shake the night terrors and then he had a few seizures…I know Dr. Arkham means well, but Tommy smelled like shit. I told the nurse and she rolled her eyes and told me to just get the hell out. The guards had their hands on their Tasers, and they were standing a bit too close."  
"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you know of any reason Scarecrow would target you?"  
"I don't know."

"Where'd you get the gun?"

I swallowed. "Sir, I'm registered in Lousiana, so I know how and when to use a gun. If I may be frank…if you continue this line of questioning, I will be dead by the weekend, and you will never find my body."

He nodded. "I understand. As long as you're responsible, I'll uh, look the other way. Why don't we head back to the station?"  
"Am I in trouble, sir?"  
"No, but right now that's the safest place for you."

Hours passed in the station. I played RuneScape on my laptop until the teenage girl who'd caught everything on her phone informed me I was on YouTube. She'd sat in the middle of the bus, in Scarecrow's blindspot. "Look at the comments." The teenage girl said. Her name was Sofia.

_She shot Scarecrow!_

_U GO GIRL!_

_SOPHIE VS SCARECROW, SOPHIE 1, SC O_

In three hours the video had amassed almost twenty thousand views, largely thanks to GCN and the Huffington Post picking it up.

"Scarecrow's never gonna live this down." Sofia giggled.

"At least his mask had an air filter. Hey, how's Mark doing?" Mark was the former Marine who had shot Scarecrow in the shoulder.

"Good, lucky for him he's registered and his gun's registered. There are so many whackos on the streets nowadays."  
I didn't bother telling her how ineffective, and often downright harmful, gun control was. It took months to get a registered gun in Gotham. I'd bought it off a Mob dealer, paid in full plus a tip for not asking questions.

I checked GCN. "Hey, Dent's giving a press conference. Dammit, we missed half of it."  
_"Take the Batman into custody."_

_"I am the Batman."  
_"Dent's Batman!" Sofia yelled. "Omigod, omigod –"  
I tuned her out. GCN now ran a grainy video of Batman capturing Scarecrow last year alongside the live stream of Dent getting arrested.

I spotted Jim running down the hall. "IT'S NOT DENT! BATMAN HAS A DIFFERENT CHIN!" I yelled.  
"Listen, I know you're upset -" Detective Wuertz said.

"Dent is taking the fall for someone, his chin is different, look at this!"  
"I don't have time. Just sit tight, okay sweetheart?"  
I called GCN.

"Gotham City News –"  
"Dent and Batman have different chins. Compare the Batman video to Dent's face, you'll see what I'm talking about. Then correct your story!" I hung up, then downloaded the video and posted it everywhere I could.

"Sophie's right. We had to do facial recognition training in bootcamp, and Dent is not Batman." Mark said.

Soon the other passengers voiced their concerns.

"It doesn't matter, they've already got him in the truck." I said.

Fifteen minutes later, GCN changed their tune. "_Folks, an anonymous tip came in pointing out a key difference between Batman and Dent – their jawlines. Now, unless Batman is wearing a prosthetic jaw, facial recognition experts say there is no way Dent is Batman. We are continuing our efforts to reach Gotham PD, but hopefully this mess will be sorted out when Dent arrives at the county jail."  
_We waited in miserable silence, until a _sound_ echoed throughout the MCU. It took me a second to realize it was _laughter._ Through the window -

"Holy shit, is that the Joker?" Sofia said, hazel eyes widening. She snapped him just as he turned toward us. I looked down, clenching my hands to keep them from shaking. I never wanted trouble, and I'd gotten myself in a mess. I'd taken out Scarecrow, the Joker and the Mob's greatest enemy. Would they worry I'd come after them? I just wanted to go find Tommy and go home.

I plugged in my earbuds. Lousiana being a red state, Fox News picked up the video, too, saying I was "brave" and "a role model for the nation." It was almost comical. Outside news avoids Gotham, and yet here I was, the "brave Southern belle" as one talking head called me (I'm no belle). Yet, no mention of the Mob. No Joker. Scarecrow got the good old 'Murican assumptions about mental health, and the cackles over the poor horse's actions. I hadn't _made_ the horse do that, and even if I could I wouldn't have! GCN hadn't even interviewed the other victims. It was as if they'd pinned a blue ribbon on me, like the first-place sheep at the County Fair, propping me up against a muddy backdrop of inadequacy.

I took out my earbuds. My hands shook. Lord, I hadn't eaten anything all day. My head spun as I packed up. A pressure wave broke windows, spraying glass everywhere. I managed to cover my face, but glass lodged in my back.

"What was that?" Sofia said. "Sophie, you okay?"  
"I've got glass in my back." I whispered. Blood trickled down my forehead and stained her pink angora sweater. "I think I have some in my scalp, too."  
"Don't move, kid." Mark said.

"Good _advice._ You military?" The Joker said.

"Marine. Now, let these poor folks go."  
"_Sure_, if Sophie LaLaurie gives herself up."  
"I'll do it, just let everyone leave! Please, sir, I don't want any trouble. I'm just looking for my cousin."

"She needs to go to a hospital. She's got glass in her back and scalp." Mark said. "She's no use to you if she bleeds to death."

"Hmm, good point. Boys, pick her up and put her in the van. Everyone else cover your eyes and count to two hundred."  
The goons grabbed my legs and torso, carrying me out like a sack of potatoes. I hoped Mark would save me, but I couldn't count on it. They set me on my stomach on the floor of the van, keeping me in place with their blood-stained sneakers. The van smelled like a slaughterhouse. Dried blood puddles and splatters marred the thick rubber mat. Bile rose in my throat. I didn't want to puke. They'd probably paint my face with it.

The van swerved violently, but the goons held me firmly in place. They smelled of death. How did this happen? I came here to find Tommy. I never wanted any trouble…

I vaguely remembered a soothing warmth spreading through me, and the odd release of pressure in my back and scalp. My scalp felt unusually cold, but not numb.

I slept again, only to hear a gunshot. I sat up, ran my fingers through my hair only to find gauze and bare skin. I felt my back. They might as well have taped a gauze quilt on my back and neck.

I heard pained screams next door. My jeans, underwear, socks, sneakers, hoodie, and messenger bag lay in the chair, along with a pink hospital-issue shirt. I tore off my hospital gown, fighting to keep the screams inside, then dressed. The Joker had attacked the hospital…but he'd _emptied_ it. I peeked in the crack in my neighbor's door, and clapped a hand over my mouth.

"_It's _fair."  
Harvey Dent held up his a silver dollar, a revolver pointed at the Joker's head. It seemed Dent had lost half his hair. The Joker had control of the gun, but Dent couldn't see that. "Heads, you keep your head. Tails? You _die._"

It didn't matter the outcome, but he got heads. I rummaged in my bag for my gun. Damn, Ramirez had never returned it!

Dent got out of bed. I looked away as he dressed, but when I looked again I saw his _face_.

I screamed.

"Who's there?" The Joker barked, rushing toward the door. I slammed it right into his forehead. He stumbled backwards, then collapsed.

"Oh dear, what happened to you?" Dent said. He must have been on some really good painkillers.  
"The explosion at the station put a lot of glass in my back and head, sir. Um, I need to make sure the other patients are okay. You need to get more medical attention."

"Don't worry, dear. I have some things to take care of."

I had no idea what he had planned. He really should stay in the hospital. However, I wasn't his mother or doctor so I really had no place telling him what to do.

"I'll see if I can find Miss Dawes, let her know you're uh, escaping."

"She's dead."  
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Well, I have to go help."

"Good luck."

I got chills down my spine as he stepped past me. The Joker twitched. I ran out.

I found the other patients trying to get on a school bus. I wasn't in any shape to drag people aboard, but I could damn well motivate them. "We don't have time! The Joker's coming out!"  
"There he is!" Mike Engel said, trying to start his camera.

"Sir, we don't have time!" Loud booms sounded, and the Joker walked out, or rather duck-walked out. I realized he wore a Nurse Joy cosplay, from the Pokemon anime. It was funny is a horrible way.

Then, the front of the hospital exploded. He pressed a button on his detonator several times, then scrambled into the back of the bus like it was clown car. Mike Engel scurried into the bus. Two hijacked busses in two days?  
"Sophie La_Laurie!_" He crowed. "_Please_ drive."  
"Yes, sir." I said. So far my manners had saved me, but I didn't know how much more he could take.

"Drive to the docks."

"Yes, sir."

"See, everyone? Miss La_Laurie_ is so polite. She's a good little Southern belle, isn't she?" Silence. "ISN'T SHE?!"  
Everyone mumbled in agreement.  
"So, Miss La_Laurie, _you're looking for your cousin?"  
I pulled into the street. I still had no idea how to drive a bus. I hoped traffic didn't pick up again. "Yes, sir."  
"What's his name?"

"Thomas."  
"Thomas _what?_"  
"Thomas Schiff."  
"_My_ Tommy?"  
I felt cold all over. Then my skin flared. My lungs hurt. My heart pounded in my ears. "He's not _your_ Tommy! He's my cousin! I took care of him until he disappeared one day. A few weeks later, I get a call from Lieutenant Gordon, saying Scarecrow had…had experimented Tommy. Gordon said, 'You can't take care of Tommy anymore. He needs professional help. So, I let him go. I visited him, but last time I visited him he was filthy. He didn't know me. The guards threatened to Tase me when I tried to see him. He's my cousin, my paranoid schizophrenic cousin who tells funny jokes and draws beautiful things, and _all I want is to bring him home!_"

"What if he doesn't want to come home?"

"I just want him to get better."  
"What if he's already better?"  
"He's not better if he's with you!"  
"Oh, he is. He wants to stay with me. He has friends now. He can eat pizza now."  
"YOU TOOK HIM OFF HIS MEDS?!"

"Yeah. See, you're _sane_ in an _insane_ world."  
"THE WORLD IS NOT CRAZY! YOU ARE CRAZY!"  
I knew I'd crossed a line, but he'd gotten his wish. This good little Southern belle had a blackbelt, a keen eye, and ZERO tolerance for cruel bastards like the Joker. "You're crazy, Joker. You're a schizophrenic, psychopathic, megalomaniac clown with zero empathy. Tommy sees shit that doesn't exist. He sees cottonmouth snakes crawling from the bathtub drain, feels hordes of brown recluse spiders bite him, turning the flesh rotten. He doesn't scream, because he doesn't want to worry me. I tell him, Tommy, let it out. There is no shame in fear. I love you no matter what. I tried to get him out of that horrible place. I called the cops, I called the FBI, I called the CDC, I even called Amnesty International. They either didn't care or they couldn't do anything until an official investigation got approved, which could take months, and then you came and broke everyone out…"  
"I'm not crazy." I swear the temperature dropped about ten degrees.  
"Yes, you are!"  
"One more _word_, and this little old lady loses her head."

I froze. I kept my mouth shut the rest of the way. His goons dragged us out, duct taped guns to our heads, and stuck clown masks on their faces.

I ran out, and bumped into a goon. He caught me, and I punched him. In the dark I couldn't see his face. He threw me to ground. I kicked up, catching him in the groin. He stumbled back. The Joker hauled me to my feet and pressed a gun into my hand.

The goon raised his arm level to my chest. I beat him to it, squeezing the trigger. I hated him as he fell backwards, his drool-flecked lips mouthing one word.

_Joker._

The Joker shoved me forward. My body collided with Tommy's, still warm, soaked with hot blood. Blood encircled his head like a halo.  
"Tommy, wake up!" I screamed, shaking him. "Tommy!" I kissed his forehead, but no breath whispered across my face. I slapped him. "TOMMY WAKE UP THIS ISN'T FUNNY!"

Every splash swept me away and brought me back to shore. Every murmur screamed in my ear. Gunsmoke set fire to the damp wind. My tears dripped on Tommy's slack face. I closed his eyes, but they popped open again. I tried several more times, but in death he stared at me.  
"You tried to kill me." I stared at Tommy's corpse. "YOU TRIED TO KILL ME YOU LITTLE SHIT! AFTER EVERYTHING I'VE DONE FOR YOU!"I fell to my knees, crying angry tears. "I took care of you. You left. You got hurt. I tried to rescue you. I came to this godforsaken city to find you after you escaped. And you point a gun at me?"  
He didn't answer.

I wobbled on my feet. The Joker grabbed my elbow, steadying me. "What are you trying to tell me?" I choked out. "I've got two ears so I can listen real well."

"People are never what they appear, sugar." He drawled, a definite New Orleans tinge coloring his awful voice.

I sucked in a breath, rage building beneath my goose-pimpled skin. "You killed him."  
"Killed who?"  
"Mr. Johnson."  
"He's _dead_?"

"Yeah, I found him! He'd bled out from a Glasgow smile!"  
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Pop quiz, what's his favorite soda?"  
"Moxie."

Mr. Johnson said the House had a curse on it. It used to be a cat house (not the furry kind), and now it was a casino.

Mama worked a stripper and bartender there before getting pregnant with me. She tended the bar right up until labor. I was born in the manager's office, healthy and screaming my head off.

Mama never told me anything, even when I scored a 182 on the IQ test. My pediatrician recommended Montessori school and a trust fund for my education.

I went to school, but my nanny drove me until I could walk. I never stayed dirty for long, but I bathed myself as soon as I could do it safely. I never went hungry, but I made or ordered my own food since I was six.

I never got answers.

I found out where Mama used to work when I overheard Rosie's mama, Loreen, referring to Mama as a "slut." Mama wore designer dresses and heels, but what did you expect? She worked in advertising! I confronted Loreen, and she smirked, plucking her cigarette from between her rotting teeth.

_"Your mama never told you where she used to work, did she?" _

_"What does that matter? She works in advertising now."  
"She was a stripper at the House of the New Orleans, Sophie dear. Then, she worked poor Sookie to get all the inheritance. Once a hussy, always a hussy."_

_"Shut your mouth, you old witch!"_

I had stormed out, tears running down my face. Rosie followed, crying. We ran to the park and cried on swings.

That night, Rosie pushed her mother down the stairs. Loreen died of a broken neck. Loreen was a sad, bitter woman. She took pleasure in decimating Rosie and I.

I could have killed her right there in the kitchen. I could have sneaked in and pushed her down the stairs. Instead, Rosie got life in prison with no parole. I could have helped Rosie make the murder look exactly like an accident, but I didn't have the guts to help.

After Rosie ran home to murder her mother, I found Mr. Johnson singing while playing an old guitar on a bench. Burns marred his fingers, his voice good enough to win a Grammy. Yet, he bristled at the mention.

_I came to New Orleans years ago to visit an old friend_, he said, lighting a cigarette.

_Did you find him?_ I asked.

_Yes._ He blew smoke into the wind. The wind became unusually cold.

_Who is he?_

_A gambling lord._

_Where does he gamble?  
The House of The Rising Sun. It has a curse on it.  
What kind of curse?_

_Anyone who steps inside dies, then comes back as a ghost._

_Oh. _

_You shouldn't be surprised, sugar. You were born there._

_What?!_

_Sit down and I'll tell you._

He told me. Then, he handed me a clean hankerchief from the depths of his greasy black coat. _Would you be a dear and get me some Moxie?_ He dug into his pocket and pulled out two dollars. I bought a can for each of us at the corner store. I'd never tried it before. I handed him his change and soda. _Thanks, sugar._

I gulped the Moxie. He laughed at the look on my face.  
_This can wake the dead! _ I gasped. I finished it. It was a rite of passage. For what, I didn't know.

_Tell me about the ghosts._

_Most are helpful. It's the murder victims you have to watch out for. They often forget their killer. Anyway, my friend, I figured he wouldn't become a ghost of natural causes, and he wouldn't like it much if I didn't help him._

_Was he hurt?  
Yes, but when I found him, his physical wounds had healed. He never said how he got his scars. I'm not sure he knows. I just know it had something to do with a woman._

_Did he cheat?  
I don't know. She had a strange name. Started with a P. I'll remember it sooner or later. Her last name was Riley. I heard him talking to his mother on the phone._

_Did he know my mother? _

_Sugar, everyone there knows your mother. He's got about ten years on you, so don't get any ideas. Just let him be. Your mother doesn't want you going in there, anyway._

_Mr. Johnson, I just want to win a poker tournament._

_How old are you?  
Fourteen, sir._

_Ask me about the House again when you can walk in the door. You'll find me at the east end of the building. Nobody bothers you there._

Four years passed, and I found out why no one bothers you in the alley east of the House of the Rising Sun.  
He leaned against the bus and pulled a pack of Camels from a hidden pocket in his costume.

"You're going to just stand there and smoke?!"  
"You want one?"  
"Not…not with…oh, Lord."

I puked stomach acid.  
"Be right back."

I finished puking, then leaned against the bus. I looked up through the window and immediately looked down. I liked skinny men, maybe because Charlie was six-foot-seven and 300 pounds of muscle when he beat Mama. He would have killed her if I hadn't stabbed him in the groin with scissors. The Joker was _maybe_ six-feet and not more than 160 pounds. He could stand to gain some but his schizophrenia probably made it hard to eat, and even if he worked out all the time he would never look like Charlie.  
The Joker made Charlie look like a clown.

The smoke brought me back to the real world. My back hurt so bad. I knew smokes helped with nerves, but did they help with pain?

I walked around the bus toward one of the smelly buildings. The docks themselves smelled of rotten fish, salt, oil, mold, puke, sweat, and wet furry animals and their droppings, but the buildings seemed to soak in the stench.

The Joker followed, dressed in his stupid purple suit.

"You sure you don't want a smoke? Least I can do."

"No, thank you."  
"You ever drank that stuff?"

"Moxie?"  
"Yeah."  
"I finished an entire can."  
He clapped twice, then blew out smoke. "Listen, we could go on and on about the past. Let's start over. Hi, Sophie. I'm Jack."  
I was so exhausted, starting over seemed like a good idea. Just fence off the past. Stuff Tommy inside Tupperware, then leave him to rot in the fridge. I eyed his outstretched hand with those horrible bony fingers. I didn't have anything to lose, really. Mama and Jeff were dead. Tommy was dead. Mr. Johnson was dead. Charlie was who knows where, but I wouldn't be surprised if he came looking for me.

I shook his hand, sealed my fate with the Devil. "Nice to meet you, Jack. I'm Sophie."

We released each other. My hand burned. My body began to burn, too. I wanted to run, but my feet refused to move. "So, are you Mr. Johnson's friend? The one he came to New Orleans to see?" My back flared. "I need whatever Dent was on."  
"No, you don't." He said coldly. "He's a ticking time bomb, and I set him off. I wasn't expecting _that_ freak to come out."

"What freak?"  
"Dent's imaginery friend. Big Bad Harv, although he's changed his name."  
"Is he schizophrenic?"

"No, he's a severely abused sociopath. He'll burn out, eventually."

"What happened to him?"  
"His mama popped pills, his daddy beat him almost every night. His older brother Richard was a real piece of shit, too."  
"What about the coin?"  
"Harold tripped down the stairs, and it fell out." His upper lip curled in disgust.

"What's wrong with that?"  
"What's wrong with _what_?"

"Killing someone who abuses you. My best friend killed her mama because she'd had fourteen years too much of abuse. Loreen deserved every crack on every step."

"What happened to your friend?"  
"She got life."

"Were you a suspect?"  
"Yeah, Miss Ginger told the cops about the argument. I asked for a lawyer but Rosie didn't implicate me."  
"That's what good friends do. I'll see if I can get Rosie out."

"She's is St. Gabriel."

"Not a problem. You hungry?"

"My back hurts."  
"Not my question…"  
My stomach growled. He plucked his phone from deep inside his coat. "Cheese, Pepperoni, or Deluxe? My treat."

"Cheese, please."  
He ordered a large cheese, plus breadsticks and Sprite. He leaned against the bus, eyeing me. He stubbed out his cigarette. "So, did you ever hear the stories about Mr. Johnson?"

"I heard the one about his first name being Robert_._" I shivered despite my hoodie. "He had a Glasgow smile when I found him, but when I asked to see him at the morgue, the mortician seemed really jumpy…"

"Sounds like a ghost story, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. He said those who enter The House of the Rising Sun are cursed to come back as ghosts. He said murder victims can be dangerous, because they often forget who killed them."  
"You ever been in there?"

I looked him straight in the eye, and squared my shoulders. "I was _born_ there."

"So, you have nothing to lose."

"What if he's not dead?" I whispered.

"Mr. Johnson or Charlie?"

"Both."

"We'll, Mr. Johnson is your friend. Probably 'cause you were born with that curse. Charlie Rizzoli, however, is not dead."  
"Where is he?"  
"He's bringing the dogs."  
I walked around and retrieved my gun. "Where is he?"

I heard growls and barks to the east. I saw the silhouette of a hulking, slightly bow-legged man leading four dogs. They pulled at their choke collars and snapped at his meaty fists.

I fired. _Crack_ and _splosh_. The dogs dug into his corpse.

"What? No torture?"

"He was a regular at the House's poker tables."

"Where's your mama, anyway?"

"She went to work and never came back. The cops don't waste time on sluts."

"Stupid bastards."

I wiped away tears.  
"What are you _crying_ for?"  
"You're the first person to say that."

The pizza sobered me. I threw up in one of the stinking buildings. I'd killed Tommy to save myself. I'd murdered Charlie in cold blood. And after all that, I'd eaten pizza with the Devil himself.

To be honest, I had a better grip on myself than most would at this point. Maybe 'cause I knew I had to "rise to the occasion" as Mama put it, because no one would come and save me. The puddle of half-digested dough and cheese was the only thing hinting at my distress. Good, because that painted psychopath fed off distress like a vampire feeds off blood.

The Joker had the right idea about corruption. He just expressed his views in the wrong way. CPS hadn't done jack shit about Rosie's beatings, and Loreen's opinion of my mother was the final straw for Rosie. Killing Loreen was the only way to ensure Loreen never hurt Rosie, or anyone else again. But you can't cherrypick who gets the legal punishment and who doesn't, because that leads to favoritism. But life in prison? Rosie wasn't a sociopath. I think Rosie should have been emancipated and sentenced to community service helping kids who never had parents, or whose parents were like Loreen, 'cause she _lived _that life. Rosie made me appreciate Mama, despite her not being home. When she was, she took me to the movies and helped me pick out the perfect red lipstick at the mall. I love Mama, even though she worked like a crazy person. Maybe she didn't know how to handle a genius kid like me.

After Loreen died, Mama told me I got my brains and looks from my daddy, who just wasn't ready to be a dad. She didn't want to mess with child support, so she just let him go. But, I think I got my brains from Sookie and Sam, Mama's grandparents, too. Sookie worked as codebreaker in WWII, and married a fellow codebreaker, my Grandpa Sam, who was by all accounts brilliant and very odd. Grandma May tried to kill Mama when she was a baby, which caused Mama's learning disability, and Sookie and Sam committed Grandma May to an institution where she was illegally lobotomized due to bad behavior. The lawsuit made Sookie and Sam rich, and they made a killing in the stock market. They raised Mama, but Sookie developed early dementia when Mama was fifteen, and Grandpa Sam died of a heart attack a year later. Mama had to put Sookie in a nursing home when I was a year old. Despite her learning disability, Mama graduated with good grades, but Grandpa Sam had forgotten to change the will to give some of his estate to Mama. Unable to pay for college, she began stripping at the House of the Rising Sun. When she was twenty-one she got pregnant with me, and she gave birth to me on her twenty-second birthday.

Until a year before Sookie died, Mama thought Sookie needed the lawsuit money to pay for her nursing home. She ran into the lawyer by accident, and he asked why Mama hadn't asked Sookie to change the will, because Sookie had inherited millions from _her_ mother who died a decade earlier in her nineties. Sookie didn't have the dementia excuse since she took Alzheimers medication and was doing a lot better, although she had developed terminal colon cancer by that point. Still, the old woman was sharp enough to remember her money.

Turns out, Sookie had heard about Mama's "slutty" behavior and her out-of-wedlock child. Mama "worked her charms" and in the end, Sookie split the money fifty-fifty between us, and gave her mansion to Mama. Mama had sold the gaudy place for millions, which she split between us.

I retched, wondering if Mama was buried in a smelly building. I wondered if Sookie or Sam ever stepped inside the House, because I'm sure they wouldn't like Mama's charms. I think Mama drugged Sookie, a sick old woman, just to get money we didn't need.

I'd picked up my gun on my way to this smelly building. It would be so easy to shoot him.

"You'd have to deal with someone else, sugar."  
I whirled to face the speaker. "Mr. Johnson."  
He sat on one of the smelly crates, and set his guitar on his lap. No Glasgow smile, no slit throat, no blood. "Sing my song, sugar."  
I couldn't. I'd sang before in school, only to get teased for having a low voice.

"Ah, you're not ready now. They teased you, didn't they? What do people say now, sugar, about haters?"

"Hater's gonna hate."  
"Yeah, and ain't _nobody_ got time for that." He smiled, showing cigarette-stained teeth. "That class was just a plot twist, and Lord knows life has a lot of plot twists. You just say…PLOT TWIST!" He threw up his hands in mock surprise. "And _move on._"

"That's a good way of looking at things." I cleared my throat. "Okay, I'll sing."

All of a sudden I was back in music class again, twelve years old and fragile. The other kids smirked.

_There is_

_A House_

_In New Orleans_

_They call the Rising Sun._

_It's been the ruin_

_Of many a poor girl_

_And God_

_I know_

_I'm one._

The classroom faded, now I stood on a stage in front of shadows.

_My mother_

_Was a tailor._

_She sewed my new blue jeans_

_My sweetheart was_

_A gambling lord._

_Down in New Orleans._

The stage faded, now I stood on the roof of the House.

_Now the only thing_

_A gambler needs_

_Is a suitcase_

_And_

_A trunk_

_And the only time_

_He's satisfied_

_Is when_

_he's on _

_the drunk._

I stood in the graveyard, watching ghosts visiting their graves.

_Oh, Mothers,_

_Tell your children._

_Not to do_

_what I _

_have done_

_But_

_Shun_

_That house_

_In New Orleans_

_They call_

_The Rising_

_Sun._

I stood at the crossroads in the middle of nowhere.

_If I had listened_

_Like Mama said_

_I would not_

_Be here_

_Today._

_But being so young,_

_And foolish, too_

_That gambler_

_Led me_

_Astray._

I saw my mother visiting a new grave.

_One foot _

_on the platform_

_The other _

_on the train_

_I'm going back_

_To New Orleans_

_Where my baby_

_Was born _

_In chains_

Mr. Johnson stared at me, eyes shadowed in wrinkled sockets. "You know who I've been singing about all these years, don't you?"  
"Mama." I whispered.

"She's on the ferry, sugar."

He began to fade.  
"Wait!"  
"Keep singing, sugar."  
I slapped away tears.

_She's on the ferry._

_She's on the ferry._

_She's on the ferry._

I dared not say it aloud.  
The Joker was nowhere to be seen. I'd ran down several buildings to puke, not wanting him to creep around making comments.

_She's on the ferry._

I snuck around to west side of the docks. Masked men loaded barrels of oil into the engine room of the two ferries, I guessed the ones that shuttled people back and forth from the mainland to the prison island.

_She's on the ferry._

There was no way I could sneak in and disable the bombs.

Or could I? The goons weren't too steady on their feet, and some were twitching. Ex-patients. Tommy was just lying there, his mask hanging around his neck.  
_Thank you, Tommy._

I stole his hoodie and mask, then dragged him behind a rock. I wiped off the inside of his mask, then slipped it over my face. I swaggered over.

"Heh." I grunted. "Boss told me to help put in the bomb. Said you guys might be tired."  
"Sure, thanks. Say, you got any blow?" A short, skinny buzzcut redhead said. He had a Boston accent.  
"Nope, sorry."  
"Ah, well if you find any, let me know. Fuck withdrawal."  
"Sorry, I hope you feel better soon."  
The guy handed me the bomb components. "Thanks. Don't tell the boss, but we can't figure out where to put it. Hey, what's your name?"  
"Moxie."

"Nice to meet you, Moxie. Yeah, just put it in there and try not to think about what's going to happen."

I grunted in reply, then got to work destroying the bombs. It was pretty simple, but I wished I could rig it to play music through the speakers. That would be funny. When I was done, the bombs looked perfectly functional. The poor passengers would be shitting their pants for a while, but the bombs wouldn't go off.

I ran off to another smelly building, hoping to see Mr. Johnson. I didn't see anyone. I wondered how I would fight an vengeful ghost.

I threw the mask and hoodie in the water. I waited for hours. No one came looking for me. I could see the shadows descend upon the half-built skyscraper. If I strained my eyes really hard, I could see the purple-clad demon at the top, staring at the water.

I watched Batman fight the dogs. I watched Batman fight the Joker. I watched the Joker fall to his death, only for Batman to save him. I thought I saw a silver, angular object fall into the water. A backup detonator, perhaps. I saw Batman run.

And then, I saw the Joker withdraw second detonator from deep inside his coat, and pull the trigger.

Both ferries exploded.  
_"She was a victim of opportunity for Scarecrow, and the Joker probably knows how smart she is. She had no choice."_  
_"Gordon, it doesn't matter, Morrison is charging her as a goon."_  
_"Bullshit. Get that bastard on the phone now."_

_"Yes, sir."  
_I feigned sleep again, planning. I had to escape the hospital. Maybe Mama…

Mama was on the ferry. The Joker must have had back-up bombs in case one of his goons grew a conscience.

_"Morrison, you can't charge her. She's the victim here….no, I am not saying that because she's cute! Pull your head out of your ass, or you can kiss any chance of police cooperation good-bye!" He hung up, growling. "Jack, how's she doing?"  
"Still unconscious. The new DA isn't seriously charging her, is he?"  
"It looks like he might."_

_"That will ruin her life." The nurse said flatly. He had a tinge of a New Orleans accent._

_"I know. Listen, if the DA does charge her, get her out of here. Take her to my house…here is the address." He tore off a sheet of paper. "My wife will take care of her. I'll cover for you, okay?"  
"Morrison is nuts, isn't he? That's why you're risking your job?"  
"Yes. It's time I started following the oath I swore when I became a police officer."_

_"You always have. Sometimes, you just have to think outside the box."  
"I…I suppose so. I'll get back to you soon."_

Chills crept up my spine and gooseflesh erupted on my arms when the door shut.

"_Wake_ _up_, _Sophie_." He hissed in my ear. I sat bolt upright. He tore off his surgical mask, revealing a Glasgow smile nearly hidden under latex and foundation. It wouldn't fool Gordon. His teeth were much less yellow, although they weren't pearly white. He knew how to use foam latex quite well, so I figured applying yellow dental paint wouldn't be a problem.

He reached under the bed, then threw pink scrubs and a surgical mask at me. "Get dressed."

"You killed my mother." I figured he'd probably given a good once-over while I was unconscious, so I just changed in front of him. He watched, but seemed more interested in my tattoos. Probably gay, thank God.

"What do you mean, I killed your mother?"  
"My mother was on the ferry."  
"I saw all the passengers. None of them were your mother. I swear."  
"Mr. Johnson said my mother was on the ferry."  
"_Obviously_ he meant another ferry. Now, _follow_ me, and just act normal." He handed me a pair of wire-rimmed plastic-lense glasses and plopped a similar pair on his long nose, then secured his mask. His hair was so blonde he could pass as Julian Assange with a perm. It didn't matter how I escaped, but Gordon wasn't coming to rescue me. The walls and staff blurred into a milky-pastel mess. The sunlight hit me like a sledgehammer. As he shoved me into the front seat of a white van with tinted windows, I realized no one would come and save me.

"So, what do I call you know? Mojo? Mohawk? Oh, right…" He glared at me, grinning wildly. "_Moxie._" He swerved onto the nighttime street. Most drivers drove like him around here. "You really think I'm stupid?" He punched my arm with his knuckles so hard, I almost cracked the window with my head. "DO YOU?"  
"Not anymore!" I flinched away. Had to protect my head! He braked, then wrapped his hand around my throat. I did the math, but freezing still was a lot harder than it sounds.

Make that practically impossible.

He threw his head back and laughed, releasing my neck. I tried to disappear into the seat.

_Mama, what do I do? Which ferry are you on? _

_Mama, I miss you._

_I sang, Mama. I sang a song for you. I sang with Mr. Johnson's ghost. I tried to save you and all those people, because I thought you were on that ferry._

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Mr. Johnson sitting at the bus stop, old guitar leaning against his knee, _The_ _Gotham Times_ wrinkled in his burned hands. When I blinked, he was gone.

"Can we stop somewhere and get a newspaper?"  
"What, did Mr. Johnson tell you that?"  
"Yes, sir. _The_ _Gotham_ _Times_."

"Stop the _sir_ bullshit, and I'll think about it."  
"Okay." I rubbed my arm. Big nasty bruise with a side of aches, coming right up. I just wanted to disappear. I wanted him to disappear. The events of the last two (or was it three?) days replayed over and over until I wanted to scream. I didn't even realize we were in the bad part of town until the neon lights outlining a naked woman came into play.

"Oh no. No, I am not stripping!"  
"You have to pay the rent somehow, doll, and they're freezing your assets as we speak."  
I shoved him as hard as I could, but he had abs like a brick wall. I kept hitting him. I would not end up like Mama. There had to be something else I could do!

There was one thing worth more than sex work, but I wouldn't give him that kind of power.

He didn't know – _no one knew_ – what I had tattooed in the "engravings" of the Trompe-l'oeil white knight's shoulder guards and vambraces covering my arms, with STAND "carved" into the design. I chose white became white knights protect the kingdom, and I wanted people to stand on my shoulders so they could see farther. The Trompe-l'oeil technique created the illusion of real armor, hiding my secret.

He forced me through the tunnel to the Underworld. Actually, the strip club was _called_ the Underworld.

By the stairs to the second floor, I noticed Mr. Johnson. He pointed at a greasy-haired, sweating Italian, in the front row.

"Keep it secret, keep it safe, sugar."

"Gandalf? _Really?_" I muttered, but I didn't think he heard me over the bass. The Joker dragged me into an office.

"Jack, good to see you. With the Falcones gone, business will be back to normal." The hulking blonde stood up, leering at me. "And…well, if it isn't Sophie LaLaurie. Now, if you can dance half as good as your mother -"  
"Mama worked here?"  
"Yeah, she worked here until about six months ago. She got locked up for _grand_ _larceny_."

_She's on the ferry._

"Mama's in jail?"  
"Yep. The whole things fucked up. Wayne's fund for poor kids with cancer ran out, so Annabelle robbed a bunch of rich people, sold their jewels, and donated 90% to the hospital in those kid's names. Ten percent finders fee, pretty reasonable. I donated as much as I could without getting suspicious, but honestly it wasn't much. Oh, and it could take a while for the feds to freeze your funds. Mickey can help you move everything to the Caymans." He pressed a button on his phone. "Fiona, I've got a guest here who needs Mickey's help." He smiled. "Fiona's my secretary, she can get you all set up. I need a word with Jack."  
Fiona appeared. She was rather plain and didn't have the breasts for stripping. I didn't think I did either, but maybe my tattoos would make up for it.

No, I would get out of here. I would get Mama out of prison. Hell, I didn't even know how to dance!

Fiona passed out in my chokehold. I stole her hairpin and picked the lock on one of the dressing rooms. Luckily, this dancer had some street sense and her clothes were only a little bit loose. I pocketed her overstuffed wallet, keys, sunglasses, phone, and license, then ran down the steps, through the club, and into the parking lot. She drove a plain white sedan.

I didn't know what I would do. Jack would look for me. Everyone would look for me. I drove around for about thirty minutes before remembering I had to warn Gordon.

"Gotham Police Commissioner Gordon speaking."  
"Gordon, this is Sophie."  
"Sophie, what happened? Morrison dropped the charges, I don't know why –"  
"Nurse Jack is the Joker. You have to warn your wife." I choked out.

"It doesn't matter, they left three hours ago." He said flatly.

"I'm so sorry." I gave him the quick version.

"Alright, can you get to New Orleans? I'm so sorry, Lord, he seemed perfectly _normal._ Is he from New Orleans? He had a bit of an accent."  
"Yes, he is. Listen, whatever you do, don't kill him. Shoot him in the arm or leg, but don't kill him. He's…he gambled in the House of the Rising Sun, and an old friend of mine said anyone who steps in there comes back as a ghost, and people who are killed get very angry at their killer. Sometimes the murder victim ghosts attack the wrong person. I don't want him to haunt you or anyone else. Also, if you kill him, you'll just have to deal with someone else who might be even worse."

"I'll order my men to use non-lethal only. I can't guarantee that will succeed."  
"Just do your best." I choked out. "Good –"  
Gunshots thundered around me, and I knew no more.

_She's on the ferry._

I climbed to my feet, seeing the wreckage of a car and a white van several feet away. Paramedics opened a body bag. A headless body. I took a closer look, wondering why Gordon was crying so hard. Was the body his wife?

"Sophie." He whispered. "Sophie, I'm so sorry."

"Last name?" The paramedic said.

Gordon pointed my her – no, _my_ shoulders. "Sophie LaLaurie. I'd recognize those tattoos anywhere." I followed him, my shoes making no sound. Huh, I wore shiny black loafers. It began to rain, and the rain slid off my clothes. I tapped Jim on the shoulder with my normal-looking, normal-feeling ghost finger inside fine black gloves, but he couldn't see me. Maybe only people who had been inside the House could see me.

Frustrated, I examined my ghost body. It seemed identical to my own. I eyed my reflection in a widening puddle. I looked just the same, but my clothes were totally different.

"Must be the dress code." I said, and no one turned to listen. I wondered if ghost clothes needed to be washed. How did one go about washing ghost clothes? Did I have to shower? I felt like I needed to _pee_, so I guess I had to eat, too. How would I use the bathroom? Were there ghost restuarants in Gotham? Could I talk to other ghosts?  
I dug into the pocket of my black tailored pants, which repelled water. The paramedic made eye contact, and I saw his five-year-old daughter drowning in the Atlantic. Miami, his ex lived there and she got custody.

"You should tell your ex to get your daughter in swim lessons ASAP." I said.

He gulped.

"Or, she'll drown in the ocean during the next volleyball tournament."

He pushed my body into the ambulance with shaking hands. I hoped he would listen. Somehow, I didn't think I could teleport. But, how was I supposed to get around? A ghost taxi?

I spotted a wet newspaper crumpled on the sidewalk. I picked it up, and immediately read the entire newspaper. "Cool."

The front page jumped out at me, and all of a sudden I stood upside down on the ceiling of a warehouse full of printing presses. Newspapers.

"STOP THE PRESSES!" A sloppily-dressed man ran in. "Sophie LaLaurie was just murdered in a hit and run on Sean Riley's orders, but the killer's buddy got _video_ of Sophie driving her car into the van _after _they shot her head off. The video is on YouTube. I've got the full story right here. Front page, we're covering this and nothing else until this is solved. Commish says no comment, I've got people working on the case right now."

I closed my eyes and went back at the crime scene. I needed to go to the library. Or a Starbucks. I ran south, figuring I'd hit a bus stop.

Actually, I hit a _bus._ I ended up clinging on the top like a ninja. It was so cool seeing traffic from the view of a bus.

The bus eventually ended up at the Gotham City Library.

I jumped to the ground, staring up at the massive marble building. So many things to learn, and maybe I'd find a book or two about ghosts. I would become Gotham's first ghostly superhero! Well, according to YouTube, I was a modern day version of the Headless Horseman…

Would my body walk out of the morgue and steal Scarecrow's horse?

Come to think of it, that was a _really_ good idea.

I ran, thinking of the morgue. This time I knocked the medical examiner unconscious right as she was about to open me up. "Sorry, I need my body!" She was still alive. "Hey, do you know where my head is?"

No answer.

I opened every drawer and door in the morgue. No head. Grimacing, I checked the trash. Nothing. I remembered I had to pee, so I ran into the bathroom and relieved myself. Everything functioned normally, and nothing weird came out, so I figured I was gonna be okay.

I took off my gloves and washed my hands. I wore a black coat with lots of pockets sewn into the red lining, a black shirt, a black waistcoat, red suspenders, black pants with white zipper pockets, black socks, and black loafers. I put my gloves back on, then rushed back to my body. I traced the left shoulder guard tattoo. Nothing. Should I dress my body?  
I took off my gloves, then touched my body's right hand.

It clenched.

"Okay, okay, stay! I've got to get you – me – us – err, _whatever_ out of here. Also have to find that horse."

I covered my body with the sheet, then aimed the gurney at the wall. I closed my eyes, thinking of Scarecrow's horse, then charged at the wall.

I really can't describe what happened next, but I ended up on the horse. Not my body, _me._ My body was nowhere to be found. Probably splattered against the morgue wall. Oh well, I'd find it later. "Sorry, body. Or Sophie. No, I'm Sophie. Fuck, this is so confusing!"

The horse whinnied. He had turned white and his eyes had turned into black sunken pits. Other than that, he seemed healthy.

I clicked my heels against his sides, and we burst through the stable doors.

"I'm coming for you, Mama!"

We galloped through the city, over the river, tore the front doors right off their hinges, and the brand-new electronic locks unlocked out of fear. Actually, that was probably some kind of ghostly magnetic pulse.  
The stallion reared up on his hind legs like they do in movies. "Mama, I'm here! Let's go! Everyone, let's go!"

Judging by the ghost-white faces and slack jaws, I was 100% visible.

"Well, cmon! Let's get out of here! Oh, and all guards DROP YOUR WEAPONS!"

The guards dropped their weapons.

"Ah, Meester Headless Horseman, this is a men's prison." A burly Russian said.

"Oh, never mind!" I said.

I spent the next seven years busting prisons all over the world to find Mama, but I never found her. When I wasn't busting prisons, I made sure my body stayed a secret in a secret freezer in a secret warehouse in hopes I could figure out how to telekinetically control it. My will was in limbo because of legal matters and the hordes of fans saying I was still alive. I rode my stallion, Muffin, all over the world. I warned whoever I could, and made sure they listened. I led the authorities to bodies. I hacked international crime rings. I left flowers on graves. I cried invisible tears.

I became The Ghost Knight, and I did my job well.

The day I returned, I rode to Wayne Manor. A portly, elderly man with a lovely British accent answered the door. He didn't even blink. "Good morning, Miss LaLaurie. What brings you to Wayne Manor?"

"Um, I was wondering if I could stable Muffin here. I…I think he'll be safe. Um, what's your name?"

"You may call me Alfred."

I realized this was the sanest conversation I'd had with a living being since I died. I hadn't come across many ghosts, not even in New Orleans, and I hadn't seen Mr. Johnson at all.  
Muffin whuffed.

"Of course. Would you like to come in?"  
"I'm not sure if you'll be able to hear or see me."

"We both can."

"Oh, good."

He stepped outside. "Follow me." He tried to grasp Muffin's reins.

"Watch…oh, he likes you."

Alfred led Muffin and I through a small, ivy-covered gate and into the stables. I dismounted and led Muffin inside. "You'll be okay, Muffs. I'll be around town."  
He whinnied.

"Does Muffin require anything special?"  
"He eats muffins. Other than that, he's a pretty normal horse."  
"He'll be safe here. The question is…will you?"  
"I don't know." I saw a warning…but for… "Good Lord, he's alive."

"I beg your pardon?"  
"Bruce Wayne. He's on a plane. Alone. He's coming back. He wants revenge."

"You are certain?"  
"I am 100% positive, Alfred. I'll find him."  
"I'm not sure he can see you."  
"I have other ways of communication. Keep Muffin here, please."

I took off running, thinking of the library. I'd forgotten to visit all those years ago. I ended up on top of a bookshelf.

"…Boss says the book is in here somewhere."  
"Can't he get his own damn library books?"

"He's in Arkham, dumbass."

"I heard he's got powers."

"He doesn't have _powers,_ Nick." I didn't recognize Nick, but I recognized the other guy as the goon who gave me the bomb parts.

"No, Mick, he told Quinzel a headless horseman gave him his scars. Couldn't have been Sophie, though."  
"Sophie is _dead_."

"No, I've seen her. She's been spotted all over the world, riding a white stallion with dead eyes. There's YouTube videos of her riding across the _ocean_. They call her the Ghost Knight."

"Well, if he thinks a headless horseman gave him his scars, that would explain why he wants to read Sleepy Hollow and the Bible."  
"Why the Bible?"  
"The Headless Horseman is a reference to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The Biblical Sons of Anarchy." Mick said, rolling his eyes. I burst out laughing, and Nick looked up. "Mick, she's up there."  
Nick looked up, and then a librarian nearly dropped her books. "Young lady! Get down from there!"

I climbed down the ladder. "Sorry, spying on my boyfriend here. Won't happen again."

I found Sleepy Hollow. "C'mon, let's get coffee. I don't know if everyone can see me. If they can, I'm testing my Ghost Knight costume for Comic-con."  
We ran into Starbucks, and everyone could see me. Great.

"So, how's it going?" Mick whispered. "What do we call you, anyway? Sophie is too obvious. And you might want to change clothes."

"Moxie, and I can't take them off. They never get dirty, though."

"Good…hang on…Moxie? I you met a guy -" Mick said.  
"I know you didn't know the Joker had backup bombs in there. I looked, and I didn't see them."  
"So, what happened?" Nick said.  
I told them. Nick leaned back. "Someone decapitated the entire Riley family _and_ the Sabatinos."  
"I know. I also know the Joker didn't do it."  
"Did you?" Mick said.  
"No. I don't kill. I don't want to risk killing someone from the House."  
"The House?" Nick said.  
"A cursed place." Lord, these two asked too many questions. "Don't worry, you haven't gone in there. But, I think the Joker is onto something about the Bible. Forget Sleepy Hollow, the headless thing isn't really relevant here. We've got four demon horsemen bringing the apocalypse and according to the Joker, one might have lost his head."  
"Well, _you_ lost your head." Mick said.

"Yeah, but my horse is Scarecrow's."  
"Where's your body?" Nick said.

"I don't know."  
"So, if your horse is Scarecrow's, then _Scarecrow_ is one of the horsemen?" Mick said. "But, he didn't lose his head." Nick said.

"Right. I think the other horsemen, err, _bikers_ –" I snickered.  
"Well, they _do_ sound like the guys in _Sons_ _of_ _Anarchy_!" Mick said.

"Okay. Bikers it is. One is a woman. Miranda Tate, AKA Talia al Ghul."  
"The ninja broad?" Nick said. "She never rode a horse through here. Motorcyle, tank, you name it, but no horse. Bane had a motorcycle, too."

"Bane is the third horseman."

"See? They're a bunch of psycho bikers!" Mick said. "The Four Bikers of the Apocalypse!"

"You need a motorcyle, Moxie." Nick said. "A big mutherfucker who will make those bozos shit their pants."

"Please tell me Bane and Miss Ninja are dead." Mick said.  
"They're like me, so chances are they just need something to ride. I don't know why I'm visible off Muffin, I shouldn't be…"

"You named Scarecrow's horse _Muffin?_" Nick said.

"Yeah, I'm not getting in why."  
"Let's get you a bike." Mick said.

Three hours later, I still hadn't found the right bike.

"C'mon, you have to break the boss out of Arkham!" Mick said.

"You know what he did to me." I said, my voice cold. I felt cold. I didn't want any trouble. "If he hadn't brought me to that damn strip club, I would –"

A pickup truck with a half-destroyed motorcyle in the back pulled into the parking lot, and a priest stepped out. I hid behind Nick and Mick.

"Uh, hi Father Xavier." Nick said.

"Nicholas, Michael…and who is your friend?"  
"Um, she has social anxiety disorder." Mick said.  
"Ah, well I don't bite. Come to my parish sometime. Saint Patrick's Cathedral."

I stepped forward, hoping he didn't send me straight to hell. "How much for that bike? Because, in order to defeat the four Bikers of the Apocalypse, I need a blessed bike."  
"The Lord sent you here to save Gotham from _demons_?" He said acidly.

"Yeah, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse." Nick said.

"Except they're bikers." Mick said.  
"Well, that makes sense. Horses are quite impractical on city streets." Father Xavier said. He pinched the bridge of his beaky nose. "This bike isn't mine. It's Cardinal Irving's. He's still in the hospital. I could, ah, get you in to see him. This will take a while to get repaired, anyway."  
"He doesn't have a cell phone?"

"He's old-school." Mick said. "Yeah, why don't we see Cardinal Irving?"

Mick and Nick rode in the truck bed, and Father Xavier wasted no time questioning me. I guess I passed the Holiness Test because he personally escorted me to Cardinal Irving's room.

"Georgie? Someone is here to see you."

Cardinal Irving opened his swollen, bruised eyes. "Xavier, leave us."  
I sat in the chair. "Cardinal –"  
"Please, dear, call me Georgie."  
"Georgie. Right then…well, um…"  
"You need my bike."  
"Yes. How'd you know that?"  
"Well, I'd say that horse of yours needs a break. And, yes, you may have my bike. The only way it could get holier would be if the Pope rode it."  
"Your blessing will be enough."

"Good. Be careful, Sophie. You are supposed to be dead. It is only a matter of time before the authorities catch up to you."

"They can't hurt me. I'm dead, after all."  
"They can, and will, interfere with your mission."

"Okay. Get well soon."  
"Godspeed, Sophie."  
I walked out the door like a normal person, craving a Big Mac. Mick waited in the lobby. "C'mon back to our place. The cosplay thing is only to work until people figure out Comic-Con is in two months." He whispered.

"I woke up wearing this."  
"You haven't changed clothes in eight years?!"

"They don't get dirty."

"Is that like the ghost uniform?"

"Yeah."  
"So, you eat right?"

"Yeah."  
"Do you, uh, need ghost pads or tampons? Ghost toilet paper?"

"I have everything I need in my coat."

"Oh. So, uh, have you ever pranked anyone?"

I smirked. "Oh yeah."  
"Like how?"

"Muffin and I surfed a lot in Perth."  
"Where's Perth?"  
"Australia. Decent beaches that aren't super crowded. Tourists shit on their Birkenstocks when they saw me. I worked with the locals to fight the pollution. I also tested the water for jellyfish."  
"Could you like, have sex with anyone?"  
"No! I'm _dead_, that's disgusting! Necro-fucking-philia!"

"Moxie, people are making serious dough writing about dinosaurs fucking cave babes."

"Natural evolution of furries." I growled. I'd actually read the dinosaur smut and liked…well, got off on it…but ghost fetishes?

"Look…I hate to break it to you…but you are every ghostie's dream."  
"_Ghosties_?" I felt sick.

"People who get turned on by zombies, vampires…ghosts. The ghosties weren't a big deal until you came along."  
"Like _necrophiliacs_?"  
"No, ghosties are like furries. The furry thing is not bestiality, and ghosties are not necrosexuals."

"Leave me out of it."  
"I just wanted to warn you in case you Googled yourself. There's a lot of um, fanfiction and fanart."  
"Please tell me you don't have a ghost fetish."

"No, I'm a pretty vanilla guy."  
"Good to know."  
"What about you? I won't tell the ghosties."  
"I died a virgin."  
"And you _didn't_ go to heaven?!"  
"Nope. I came back to the crime scene, probably fifteen, twenty minutes later."

"Y'know I went to rehab after I saw the video."  
"The one where I drove the car _after_ losing my head?"

"Yeah. 'Cause…I told the Boss what you did. I didn't know he had hidden cameras everywhere. He was so mad. I sold you out so I could keep my head, but you lost yours.'"  
"I would have done the same thing."  
"You sure he's not one of the horsemen?"  
"It's possible there are more than four horsemen. The _other_ possibility is the Joker remembered shit from Sunday School and forgot the Bible isn't exactly up-to-date."  
We were at a stoplight when he took my pulse. "You have a pulse."

"I know."  
"You're not a ghost anymore. You're not a vampire, and I don't think you're a zombie. Someone gave you a second chance on life."  
"I've never seen God."  
"Maybe God liked what he saw in you, and decided you were better off helping us. You could have gotten revenge, but you traveled all over the world helping people. Inspiring people. And if there are more people like you here, chances are not all of them are good."

"What am I supposed to do besides ride a holy motorcycle?" I said acidly.

"You can teleport and when you ride Muffin you can create shockwaves. Maybe you can do other stuff."  
"Like what? Ooh, these are not the ghosts you're look for?" I waved my hand in the air Jedi-style. "Make everyone do Gangnam Style?"  
"That would be pretty funny. God, what is holding everything up?"  
A chill ran down my spine again. I swallowed bile. "Someone murdered a taxi driver about a mile ahead and there was a crash."

"Any idea who?"  
"There was a ghost serial killer in Glasgow who hijacked taxis and cut out the drivers' eyes because _his_ killer was a taxi driver who did the same thing to his victims. Problem is, he's blind and can't drive, so he often caused crashes."

"What do we do about him?"

"Nothing. Here, let me drive. I can teleport us to your house."

I came within two inches of the garage door. The garage could hold at least ten cars. The mansion towered above us. "You a trust-fund kid?"  
"Yeah."

"Why'd you work for the Joker?"  
"He's my friend. Or, was. He moved here from New Orleans in sixth grade with his grandma. Dad ran an international child porn ring –"  
"Jesse Napier?" I guessed off the top of my head.

"Yeah."  
"Shit." I leaned back in the leather seat. "The curse runs in families."  
"What curse?"  
"The curse that makes people come back as ghosts. That explains why there are so many. Jesse went to the house."

"The cursed house?"  
"Yeah. Anyway, Jesse's in Scotland Yard, but he told me he killed his son, Jack. Slit his throat. I…I saw the memory, there's no way the Joker could have lived through that. He was seventeen. He found the tapes, then found a bunch of ten-year-old girls in a warehouse. He tipped off the FBI."  
"Jesus." Mick breathed. "No wonder he was so fucked up senior year. C'mon, I gotta pee."

The inside was typical mansion stuff. Sculptures, famous artwork, Turkish rugs, solid mahogany furniture with clawed feet, leather stuff to sit on, marble floor, and granite countertops.

But, something was very, very wrong with the third living room I passed.

"MICK THERE ARE DEAD PEOPLE IN THE LIVING ROOM AND THEY'RE VERY ANGRY!"  
He came rushing downstairs. "What?"  
"There are _dead_ people, screaming and hissing and chirping like angry _cats_ –"  
"Hang on." He opened the door and immediately shut it, pale faced. "The stuffed animals."

"What all did you have stuffed?"  
"Uh, a couple birds, a mountain lion, a raccoon, a fox, a quagga, a tasmanian tiger -" He wiped sweat off my forehead. "We're taxidermists. I hate it."

"They're all gonna kill each other in there."  
"Can they die?"  
"I don't know. You stay out here."

I stepped inside. The animals regarded me warily. I recognized everything except the half horse, half zebra thing standing in the corner. It stepped on the glass eyes. It licked its nose with a tongue.

"Okay, everyone…can you understand me?"  
"We ain't stupid." The raccoon said, sounding like a gangster.

"Crikey, you're one with the horse!" The tasmanian tiger growled. "Maybe you try riding that bitch over there."  
"My name is _Nahla_, you insolent fool. You can't ride _me._ My people are warriors, strong like the ox and -" The quagga said with a distinct West African accent.

"Like, uh, dude, can we all be like, peaceful?" The mountain lion said.

"Like uh, _dude_, can you talk like a normal person?" The honey badger said.

"Dude, I thought you uh, like, didn't care."

"Don't mind him, he's from University of California Santa Cruz." The owl said.

"Why haven't you Americans legalized weed? People will use it less." Tasmanian Tiger said.

"Dude, we can't get enough people to vote for Ron Paul." Mountain Lion said.

"Dear, you can't vote." Quagga said.

"I don't give a cobra's ass what Congress says, I'M VOTING!" Honey Badger said.

"Okay, okay, there isn't another election for six months, and a bunch of dead people are coming back to life with super powers, and most are very evil!"

"What can we do?" Quagga said.

"I don't know, but you and Taz need to stay out of sight. You're uh, extinct."  
"We know." Taz said, flopping on the rug. The other animals hung their heads.  
"The tweety-birds are extinct, too." Owl said. "Fox and I are endangered."  
The fox just stared at me.  
The door opened.

"You guys can _talk_?" Mick said.

"Well, duh." Honey Badger said.

"What does the fox say?" he said.

The Fox sighed. "I _refuse_ to participate in this anti-American discussion. I was shot because I was irresponsible. You can't expect the government to save you!"  
"Shut _up_, you sound like Bill O'Reilly!" I said.

"He's a _fox_, what did you expect?" Owl said.

"Um, you guys are gonna have to keep it down because the Joker is on his way here, and who knows what he'll do to you." Mick said. "We'll have to hide you. You guys go find a hiding spot. You can go to the bathroom in the back yard -"

"What? We use toilets like respectable folk!" Raccoon said.

"Okay, well, you can stay in the third floor guest rooms, just be careful getting food." Mick said.  
After everyone was settled, Mick dragged me down into the kitchen. "Okay, that was freaky. Even freakier? _You_ were here and yet someone blew up half of Arkham and let everyone loose. Also, your eyeball-loving serial killer is currently shaping the bushes into giant eyeballs, and he wants to talk to you."

"Okay. You stay here and I don't know, get the party started."  
"Should I order some _zombie_ pizza, then?" He said acidly.  
"He likes cheese pizza. Do your parents have any old weapons they aren't using?"  
"Yeah, in the basement. Down the hall, third door, watch your step and the spiders. Take whatever you want."

The spiders squeaked and shook. "Eeek!"

"Don't squash me!"

"I paid the rent!"

"Okay, okay, can you guys just move a little bit? I have to get a weapon."  
A HUGE HOUSE SPIDER lowered itself down in front of my face. "Whatcha lookin' for?"  
"I'm not sure."  
"Think real hard."  
I did, and sighed. "Scissors."

"And, what are the chances of those being down here?"

"Not very likely." I swallowed. "Okay, I'm leaving."  
I got the hell out of there.

"Moxie, where – oh, did you find something?" Mick said. "We're out of pizza and I can't order pizza with the eyeball killer out there. He really wants to talk to you."  
"I need scissors."  
"Scissors?"

"Yeah. Also, the spiders don't like me."  
"The spiders…fuck, I don't even want to know… yeah, hang on." He ran upstairs, and returned with three pairs of scissors. "Any of these holy?"  
I grabbed all of them and stuck them inside my coat. "Thanks. I'll go see what Nox wants."  
"The eyeball guy?"  
"Yeah."

I stalked outside to the half-mutilated bushes. "Nox what are you _doing_ to the bushes?"  
"Good to see you, too Sophie." He grinned, then took off his sunglasses. He had his eyes again. "Am I sexy, or what?"

"You're a serial killer."  
"What, I can't be sexy?" His handsome face fell. "You don't find me beautiful, do you?"  
"You are, but I'm not interested in…sex. With anyone, dead or alive. Will you quit killing people? Not all taxi drivers are like Addy."  
"What else am I supposed to do? Gardening? Look, it's an eyeball. Sort of."  
"Well, what did you do before?"

"I was a fashion designer with no clients."

"Why?"

"I wanted to send my mother down the runway instead of toothpicks. It takes talent to dress the average woman, and yet all the big shots do is drape starving models in flimsy fabric!"

"This is 2013, not 1973! The average American woman is plus-size. You have a second chance. Be a fashion designer. I can help."  
"The Joker wants me to kill for him. He's like us."

"I know. Believe me, I know."

He finished up the bush. It did look like an eyeball. "Ah, I guess I'm better with fabric."

"Yeah. Make the Joker a new suit. Actually…can you make me one, too? I'm not sure I can wear mortal-made clothes."

"You've got a deal. See if you can talk to the Joker about being my ah, client. That would be great on my resume."

That chill ran down my spine again. "He'll be here in oh, three minutes. Tell him yourself."

"He didn't blow off your head, Sophie." Nox said. He sighed. "Sean Riley didn't, either."

"Then, who did?"  
Nox swallowed. "No one knows who he is. Only…only that he kidnapped a mortal woman from New Orleans. He forced her to take the ferry to Arkham. She is his eyes and ears there."

_She's on the ferry._

**A/N: This is not intended to insult/promote any religious beliefs :) Just lots of spooky terror, fun, heartbreak, and friendship.**


	2. Chapter 2

Nox shifted on his sneakers. Guess my suit wasn't the only dress code. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

"Who is he?"

"That's the question everyone is asking, Sophie."  
"Does he have red curly hair?"  
"Yeah. He does…he does look a lot like you."

"Is he my father?"  
"I don't know, and I don't _want_ to know."  
"Can he talk?"  
"I've never heard him speak. He uses email mostly."

"Do you have his email?"  
"Well, I have my laptop…"  
"Can I use it?"  
He swallowed.  
"Nox, I don't care what's on it."  
"Alright. But, let's see what the Joker wants."  
"I'm not his bitch, Nox. If he hadn't dragged me to that strip club, I wouldn't be dead."  
"You don't know that. That ginga would have killed you at some point. Easier to do it in the hospital. Instead, he had to drive -"  
"Drive. Nox, _drive._ The driver survived. He didn't have red hair, but there was another body bag. The passenger."

"You can't shoot a shotgun and drive."

"So wait, you think he faked his death and crawled out of the morgue?"  
"Well, if he was well, like us _then_, he had no reason to do that. Strange shit happens all the time here, and you were a distraction. See, word is he kidnapped a mortal woman, but we don't know if he was mortal when he kidnapped her…or if he _is_ your father…when he knocked up your mom."

"So, what you're saying is, there is the possibility I killed him when I crashed into the van, and he came back whenever we did. Does anyone know why we came back?"

"Lots of theories."  
"Name the top five."  
"Oooh…well, number one is that nuclear fusion reactor Wayne made."  
"Nuclear fusion is clean, though. It's just ridiculously hard to do."

"No shit. Scientists all over the world have shot laser after laser for _decades_, with no luck. All of sudden, Wayne announces he created one. He would never explain who made it or how the thing works. Now, Wayne creates some pretty cool shit, but this is _too_ cool. So, the number one theory is Wayne trapped a ghost in the machine, and when Bane took out the core, the ghost turned –"  
I covered my ears. "Forget it!"

"Ah, ah, ah…look who is here!"  
I stalked up to the Joker and kicked him in the balls. He doubled over, gasping.

"That's for getting me killed." I shoved him to the ground. He laid back, trying to get his breath. Then, he staggered to his feet. "You hit hard."  
I tried to slap him but Nox grabbed my arm. "Careful, you're super-strong."

Part of me felt bad. Most of me wanted the Joker to be able to answer my questions. I sighed. "Okay, I do not mean anything by this."  
He yelped as I stuck my hands down his baggy sweatpants and grabbed his balls very, very gently, imagining decreasing inflammation. Nox fell on his ass laughing. I withdrew my hands after the most awkward moment of my death. I plucked a small plastic-wrapped wet wipe from my pocket and wiped my hands.

"You _idiot_." The Joker said darkly.

"What? I just healed your _pwoor_ _wittle_ _pwuised_ _bwalls_!"  
"I HAD A VASECTOMY!"  
"What is that?" I said.

He puffed up like an angry baboon. "I had my _wittle_ _twubes_ snipped so I couldn't have children! Do you _realize_ just how painful that was? I had a wear a sling to hold my BIG GIANT DICK IN PLACE SO MY BIG GIANT BALLS COULD HEAL PROPERLY!"  
Nox was beet red laughing, and I was trying to assess what "big" meant. How big was the average junk? Apricot-sized? Peach-sized? Mama had never really bothered with sex ed, and so I was left to my own Internet research. All I found was porn (which is totally unrealistic) and women's magazine articles telling women YES YOU ARE EMPOWERED IF YOU SUCK DICK BECAUSE YOUR MAN'S BRAIN GOES OFFLINE and NO, DON'T DO ANYTHING EXCEPT MISSIONARY STYLE BECAUSE YOU'LL BE WALKING LIKE A PENGUIN IF YOU DO ANYTHING ELSEand ANAL IS NOT RISKY BUT USE A LOT OF LUBE AND ALWAYS USE A CONDOM.

"Why can't you just use a condom?" I finally said, figuring they were slightly smaller than apricot-sized, and his dick was about 6 or 7 inches. "You aren't big, anyway. You're average."  
"Sophie, that's not nice!" Nox gasped.

The Joker just glared at me.

"You're dead, how could you even have kids?"

"No. No, I'm not dead."

He didn't remember. Or maybe, he couldn't face the facts. The murder was so horrible, I hadn't really looked him up.

He had died when he was seventeen, right before senior year. He'd come back in time for school, without so much as a scar, so someone had scarred him _after_ he came back. I healed myself, and I could heal others. Maybe he couldn't heal.

"Ah, I'll go the fabric store." Nox said.

"Take Mick with you." I said.

The Joker and I stared at each other until Nox and Mick left.

"Why are you upset?"  
"Let's go in and talk."  
I made hot chocolate and put extra whipped cream for both of us.

"Cheers."

I told him the truth. Then, I narrowly dodged his mug of hot chocolate with my ceiling-teleportation skills.

"You're a cruel bitch, y'know that?" He hissed. "You really think I wanted to hear that? I've tried so fuckin' hard not to think I'm a _freak_, and now you come back from the dead just to tell me _I'm_ dead, too?"

"So is Nox, and he's fulfilling his dream of being a fashion designer for the average woman instead of living clothes hangers!" I jumped on the bar, creating spider cracks around my feet. "You got a second chance, Jack."  
"No, no, _no._ I'm not Jack. Jack is dead."  
I grabbed his wrist. "You've got a heartbeat, Jack. Whatever brought us back, however long we have, we must make the best of it."

He punched me, breaking my nose. My nose healed in seconds. "Don't hit me."

He beat the shit out of me. He couldn't hurt me, but this was getting annoying. I didn't pull this shit when I realized I was dead.

"Why…don't…you…scream?!"  
"I don't feel pain."  
"Why did _I_ get all the pain then?"  
"I don't know. Look…shit, I have to go!"  
I ran into the oven and as usual, appeared on the ceiling like that spider in the basement. After doing my business, I ran into the wall and came out of the oven, knocking the Joker to the ground. I barely managed to catch his head.

"When I said I didn't want a bun in the oven...I _really_ meant that." He said, trying not to smile. "But, I can make an ex-_cep-_tion."

I was too exhausted for jokes. "I don't think it's necrophilia if two ghosts fuck. But, I'm not fucking anyone."  
"Is Batman a ghost?"  
"I don't know. I know he's coming back, and he wants revenge."

He did a little wiggly happy-dance under me, pumping his arms like a little kid. "YES! YAY! BATSY IS LIKE ME!"  
"He has no sense of humor, and _I don't know if he's a ghost!_"

He pouted. "What if he thinks I'm disgusting?"

_He probably already does._ "He can fuck himself, then. "

"Do you think I'm disgusting?"

"No."  
"Then kiss me."  
"No."  
He batted his eyelashes at me.

"No."

He tried to kiss me, but I covered his mouth.

His eyes sunk into his eye sockets and his _jaw unhinged so he could bite off my hand!_ His scars ripped, leaving shreds of blackened muscle to hold his gaping maw together. His tongue turned neon green and thrashed around, slicing the remaining muscle. He shuddered, his neck arched, I held his jaw shut and healed the bloodless cuts, but this time his body fought me.

I soon realized I was in way over my head. I'd healed mortals just enough so they would survive the trip to the hospital. This was completely foreign to me. He tried to bite me, his teeth extremely sharp. He scratched at my arms with the black claws that had replaced his ragged nails, but my ghost suit protected me. A keening sound echoed throughout the kitchen.

In desperation, I kissed his forehead, hoping there was some truth in kisses making boo-boos better. He writhed beneath me, a choking sound escaping from his lungs.

_Seizure_.

I slammed my forehead into his, putting all my healing power into his brain. It was like a goddamn rave party in there! The rogue neurons calmed down, and he calmed down along with them.

I waited for his body to return to normal. Slowly, very slowly, his claws retracted. His eyes reappeared, and his torn cheeks knitted themselves into inhumanely malleable scars. His skin regained what little color is had in the first place. I slid my hand underneath his loose, sweaty gray t-shirt to check his heartbeat.

He was alive.

"C'mon, clown-boy. Let's get you a bath." I said, picking him up. I carried him upstairs to the master bedroom on the second floor. I undressed him, and the more I saw the angrier I got. Bruises littered his papery skin, stretched over his bones. Some of the bruises on his legs were bite marks. I healed each one, and tears streaked my face when I was done. I wiped them away.

"No matter what you have done, you didn't deserve this." I took a breath. "No one does."  
I plopped him in the bathtub, keeping his head above water while I slathered conditioner in his dry hair. Hurting him wasn't going to do me or anyone else any good. I'd gone years not getting revenge, why should I start now?  
"I just want answers, y'know?" I said, not caring if he could hear me. "Why did that red-headed jerk kill me?"

"Your body..." He murmured.

"What about it?"  
"He thought you hid something in your tattoos." He opened his eyes, set deep under blonde brows. "I told him he was crazy. I said, Eddy, she's _smart_, but she ain't _that_ smart. You killed him before he could figure out whether I was right." He grinned. "Well, am I right?"

"Depends. What does he think I hid?"

"P versus NP."  
I really hoped he didn't have lie-detecting abilies.

"You're a terrible liar."  
"Yeah." I said.  
"You do realize what that is, right?"  
"Yeah, and I was bored."

"You solved P versus NP because you were _bored?!"  
_"Yeah, and it took me several hours a day for eight years."

"You sure you didn't have telekinetic powers, too?" He said acidly.

"No, but that would have been cool." I said, catching the _Matilda_ reference.

"Do you still have the tattoos?"

"No."

"Liar." He said, winking. "Don't worry, I'm old school."  
He sat up. "Did you –"  
"Yeah, you had a seizure."  
"I did. Ow, my jaw hurts."  
"Yeah, you tried to kiss me, I covered your mouth, and your jaw unhinged and your eyes disappeared -" He glared at me. "I'm not making this up, Jay."  
"Fuck, you're telling the truth." He splashed me, then touched his slick hair. "Ughh…"  
"It's just conditioner. You can rinse it off when you take a shower."  
"You didn't…do anything…_right?_"  
"I healed you." He touched his scars. "Now, _those_, I think they keep your jaws together."  
"A headless horseman gave them to me. About a year before I ah, terrorized this fuckin' city. You won't tell anyone, _right?_"  
"'Course I won't." I cleared my throat. "My killer's name is Edward or Edwin?"

"Edward Nygma."  
I snorted. "No way that's his real name."

"Why not?"  
"E. Nygma? Enigma?"

"Doesn't matter. Last time I checked he was splattered all over the pavement. You think he's come back?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Now, were you drugged with _anything_ when the headless horseman sliced your face up?"

"Yeah. None of your business what."  
"I don't care if you were an addict."  
"I wasn't an addict." He cleared his throat. "I was a paranoid schizophrenic. Mind you, the vast majority of us never hurt anyone except ourselves."  
"I know."  
"Y'know why I got all those crazies off their meds?" He said after a few minutes.

"Why?"  
"'Cause I took mine like I was supposed to. I was on Haldol. Y'know how many of us stay on Haldol?"  
"Not very many. I'm really proud of you for sticking with it."

"_Thanks_." He sank deeper into the water. "So, I take my evening dose on Halloween…and all of a sudden, I see a headless horseman. His body is rotting. Black…stuff oozes from his neck. He keeps saying something, but I can't hear him. I can't speak. I can't do _anything_. So…I scream. Next thing I know, I'm lying on the floor with these scars. He was _real_, Sophie. He left footprints. I mean, what did I ever do to him?"  
"Scarecrow." I took a shuddering breath. "Scarecrow, _not_ Crane. He put Fear Toxin in your meds. Probably wanted to eliminate competition. You're more powerful than he is."

My new motorcyle appeared in my head. "I have to pick up my holy bike now."  
"Get me some _clothes_ while you're at it. You have mortal money?"

"My wallet is always full."

I ran into the wall, and ended up right outside the body shop's door. I walked in, and the nice lady behind the desk smiled. "Oh, Miss Laurent! Your bike is ready. Georgie took care of the paperwork. He's doing better."

I heard the distinctive roar of a Harley outside. "Thanks."

I hopped on the bike and teleported to the mall. I decided to get me some clothes, too.

The question was…where?

My ghost-senses told me to go to Abercrombie and Fitch. The giant poster of the shirtless model at the entrance winked at me. I ran into the poster, and ended up in a clothing store full of leather.  
"Hi Sophie! We were wondering when you'd get here!" The zombie guys behind the counter said.  
"What's with all the leather?"

"Oh, the store changes stock depending on what the customer _truly_ desires." Zombie 1 – his nametag read Steve – said.

"So, pick whatever you want!" The other guy, Rin, said.

I took me an hour, but I finally decided on a wardrobe of black leather bodysuits with black leather shorts with zipper pockets, black motorcycle boots (no stilettos 'cause that only works in the movies) and a black leather jacket with tons of pockets. Zippers, of course. I am riding a holy motorcyle; I cannot have all my stuff flying away. Everything was bullet, blade, and abrasion proof. Everything fit perfectly.

As I left the store, I wondered if all the perks of being dead came about to help us cope with reality. No amount of teleportation, healing, and easy shopping could take away of pain of death.

Mortals want closure. They reduce us, the living dead, to monsters who exist only to terrorize. We defy sanity, threaten most religions, and yes, some of us are terrorists. Many of us are insane.

_We need to protect mortals, not destroy them._ I realized as I landed neatly in the ten-car garage.

I walked in on a high school party. It seemed weird, like everyone was dressed in mid-90s stuff.

"Oh no." I whispered, as a teenage, scar-free Joker walked in.

"Happy birthday, Jack!" Everyone screamed.

I cornered him.  
"Wow, haven't see you before."

"Uh, yeah. Hey, my name is Sophie LaLaurie. Have you gone to a warehouse on 250, 52nd street yet?"

"Uh, no, should I?"  
"No. No, you absolutely shouldn't. No matter what you do, don't do that. Also, don't tip off the FBI about your father's secret business. Your father will kill you, and you will come back as a ghost, another ghost will carve a smile in your face, and then you will terrorize Gotham ten years from now."

"Okay…what, are you some kind of time-traveling alien?"  
"No, I'm a ghost. You'll meet me in ten years if you call the FBI in the next week. You will be dead, and insane. Trust me, okay? _Please_."

"Okay. Well, I've already called the FBI, and I went to the warehouse. Are you from the ghost FBI? 'Cause I see ghosts. All the time. Don't tell anyone."

"Do you see an old African-American man named Mr. Johnson? He plays an old guitar and his fingers are burned."  
He paled. "Yeah. He's…is he…dead?"  
"Yeah, he's Robert Johnson."  
"No way, the blues legend?"  
"Yeah. Look…you're in danger. You can't go home. Let me protect you."  
"Okay. God…I had no idea…my dad…"  
"Let's go. I can protect you."  
"Okay." I grabbed his hand and led him to the garage. Before he could protest I pulled him toward the wall.  
We ended up _in mid-air above Wayne Enterprises._

He floated as long as he held my hand, like Superman and Lois Lane. "Woah…" We both said.

He clung to me, brushing a hair away from my cheek. "You're not as scary as you look."  
"How do I look?"

"You've got black eyesockets and a smile cut in your face. Red scars." He smiled, showing deep dimples. "Maybe I'll be you for Halloween."

"No, don't."

_Something about a woman. She had a strange name, started with a P. Her last name was –_

"Riley. Peyton Riley. Jack, you must not save Peyton Riley from Johnny Sabatino."

"Peyton? She's such a slut. I'm not bothering with her, trust me. And um, can we land?"  
"Sure."  
I teleported us on top of a giant oak tree in Hyde Park. I put a hand over his mouth.

_"…You hear that?"_  
I made a hoot-hoot sound.

"_Just an owl. Boss said to dump the girls here."_

I had to hold Jack down. "Jack, there isn't anything you can do. Your dad would have killed them anyway."  
I tried to teleport, but _something _blocked me.

"Get me out of here." He hissed.

"Someone is blocking me."

"Another ghost?"

"Yeah. You know a guy named Jonathan Crane?"

"He's the Chem TA. Creepy guy. Is he a ghost?"  
"In ten years, yeah."

"How old are you _here_?"

"Seven. But I'm in New Orleans."

"You're like, breaking the space-time continuum."  
"No shit."

_"…Mick, I swear someone is here."_

_"…Look around, dumbass. You see anyone?"  
"Up in the tree?"  
"No one can climb that tree, Nick."  
"Why's that?"  
"The lower limbs are unstable. You need – hey, what's Crane doing here?"_

_"Let's beat the little pansy up."_

_"Hey, maybe we can frame him."_

_"_Crane_? He's Leland's pet."  
"He did _something_ to Peyton. We take him out, maybe Peyton will date us."_

_"Her daddy will never let that happen."  
_"Can you kill Crane?"

"Yeah, he's going to become Scarecrow and terrorize Gotham with Fear Toxin."

I shot him straight between the eyes. He collapsed.

Mick and Nick dropped the trash bags containing the dismembered girls and ran_._

I held Jack close, hoping my ghost-face didn't scare him. I closed my eyes, thinking of somewhere safe. He thought the same thing.

I woke up, my head pounding. Ropes bound my wrists. I struggled. I could break free, but wanted to heard what Scarecrow had to say. I was blindfolded.

_"Good, you're awake. Can you tell me your name?"_  
_Scarecrow._

"Sophie LaLaurie."  
_"And, how old are you?"_  
"Nineteen."  
_"Where were you born?"_

"New Orleans."

_"Republican or Democrat?"  
_"I believe laws are for stupid people and psychopaths."

_"Hmmm…guess I'll put down Libertarian."_ I heard pen scratch on paper. "_Do you have any allergies?"_

"No."  
_"Any respiratory difficulties?"  
"_No."

"_What is your blood type?"  
_"O-negative."

_"Any major surgery?_"  
"No."

_"How fast can you run a mile?"_

"Six minutes."_  
"Do you play any organized sports?"  
_"No."

_"What is your IQ?"_  
"182."  
He chuckled softly. _"Impressive. Do you have an eidetic memory?"  
_"Yes."  
_"Do you have any pets?"_  
"No."

The questions continued for several minutes. I was perfectly happy to keep him talking. He had _no idea_ what I had done. He had no idea I was a ghost. He just knew someone had blown his brains out, thus rendering him invisible and unheard before he could attack Jack. I had torn apart the space-time continuum. The question is, what would happen?

"What do you _fear_?"

"Glossophobia. Fear of public speaking."  
The door burst open.

"GET OUT!" Scarecrow roared.

"Boss, the Chechen wants to meet, like _now_. The usual spot. He didn't sound happy."

Growling, he untied me with inhumanly cold hands. "Get the van ready, and clean up the floor. Where's your idiot brother?"  
"Get the supplies. What about the broad?"  
"She's leverage against Batman. Where's Tommy?"

"He left a resignation letter on his bed."

"_A_ _resignation letter?!"_

"Yeah, it said a recruiter offered him three times what you're paying, _and_ he wouldn't have to be a lab rat."  
"ARRRGH! Who is the recruiter working for? Who can afford to pay that little nutcase five grand a month?!"  
I kept my mouth shut, trying not to smirk.

"Boss…uh, I don't know. I've got Aspen trying to figure it out."  
"_Aspen's_ only _asset_ is her _ass_."  
"That's why I've got Aspen on it. When I was pimpin' the Mob hired a bunch of us to recruit johns. We know better than to squeal, but the johns might spill."

"Well, Mick, it _does_ appear as if you're the brains of the family. Do we have any cereal?"

"Yes, is she hungry?"  
"Yeah, I'll experiment on her later." He ripped off the blindfold. I blinked, recognizing Mick from Jack's birthday party. The little shit had grinded me as I passed by, then tried to kiss my cheek before recoiling in horror. He hadn't been drunk. I must have warped time teleporting, because it would have taken at least an hour to get from the party to Hyde Park.

Had Mick seen my demon face?

Come to think of it, Jack assumed I was an alien. Judging by his description, I guess I would look like an alien.

"Get her in the kitchen and feed her. No copulation!"  
"Yes, Boss." He said, regaining his composure. **_Too much blow that night…she's still banging…_**

Holy shit! I could read minds!

I followed him. He was an alcoholic, still trying to block out those poor girls, and me. He had seen my demon face, and Jack had revealed _his_ after killing his father.

It got worse. Shortly after graduating high school, Jack joined the "psycho ninjas" and convinced the head psycho ninja to recruit Crane for distributing Fear Toxin. Crane had made an incredible recovery, and was more than happy to get revenge on the "coward" who shot him, as well as all the other cowards in Gotham.

Jack went rogue after falling in love with Batman, switching to a watered-down version of his demon face that resembled greasepaint and taking the name, 'the Joker" as a twist on his name. Something about saying "Jack Napier" ten times fast…'Jackanape', old-timey name for the Joker card.

_Great. Just _great_. I _save_ you_ -

"You hungry?"  
"Do you have Cheerios?"

"Yeah! Yeah, right here." He plucked an individual-sized box of Cheerios from the top shelf. "You thirsty?"

"Yes."  
He plucked a can of Pepsi from the fridge, which was stocked with every kind of soda imaginable. Not surprising, soda and other sugary things makes ghosts very, very happy.

"Alright, uh, let's go. What's your name?"  
"Moxie."  
"Moxie. Huh. Well, uh, the van should be ready by now."

I followed him to the van. I hadn't died in this timeline, so I decided to assume I was still living. I also wanted to confront Jack so I could knock some sense into him, and Scarecrow getting into a fight with the Chechen would give me the perfect opportunity to escape. Hell, maybe Batman would show up.

"Mick, stay here and watch the lab."  
Uh-oh!

"Yes, Boss."

"Sophie, in front."

I climbed in the front seat, feeling very, very afraid. He jammed the keys in the slot, his knuckles white. He swerved out of the bullet-marked driveway. Bullets and burns marred the bricks. The windows were cloudy, as if they had been washed with Fear Toxin. Spiderwebs, lint, leaves, and branches clogged the gutters and dug into the shingles. The rest of the neighborhood sported similar decay. Ghosts and zombies wandered the streets, teleporting when we came too close.

"Do you know why I study fear, Sophie?" He said quietly. The residential decay transitioned to the rotting guts of Gotham. Liquor stores and pawn shops dotted the streets. The homeless mortals shuffled along the trash-strewn sidewalk. The dead ran in and out of the grimy walls.

"Do you?"  
"You're afraid of fear. People tormented you in school. They made you feel weak and powerless. So, you want to take the power back."

"How did you know those pathetic bags of flesh tormented me?"

"You're Southern, short, skinny, shy, and smart."

"Were you tormented?"  
"In school?"  
"At any time."  
"Yeah."  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
"No."  
He sighed. "You're not afraid of me, are you?"  
"I am. Screaming isn't going to do us any good, though. I much prefer civil conversation."

We rode in silence for a good ten minutes. "I've heard your name before."

"Where?"  
"Twelve years ago, I worked at The Wayne Foundation Academy for the Gifted, as the AP Chemistry Teacher's Assistant. Dr. Joan Leland taught the class, but I subbed for the last three months of her first pregnancy." He cleared his throat. "We had a student who could rile up the class in seconds. He took an obscenely obvious delight in making all his teachers dread coming to work. I saw myself in him. Or, more accurately, I saw the person I _could_ be if I didn't dread, well, everything. He approached life with…what do you young people say now? Yellow?"

"_YOLO_. You Only Live Once." How the hell could he NOT know about YOLO?!

"Yes. Yes, he lived by that mantra. Except, no one said ah, YOLO back then. For example, the time he sustained a compound fracture in his shin. He giggled all the way to the hospital. He woke up from surgery as charming and devious as ever. He's also unnaturally resistant to pain."

"You wanted to be like him."  
"Yes. I wanted…I wanted freedom from fear. I wanted to feel happiness when I killed my tormentors, but even thinking about such plans brought on shame. I believed I would find happiness by being the better person."  
"What happened to change that?" I already knew. I'd been so _stupid_, thinking I could kill a juvenile super-ghost, if he even was a ghost, and change the future. Wasn't there a word for this? Yes, the time paradox. If I went back in time to kill, say Sookie before she had Grandma May, then the present would adapted to the new past as simply as possible. For example, throwing me into the new timeline in a place where I would fit in. Of course, all of this assumed I had time-travel abilities, meaning in this case I was dead –

"I took nighttime walks in Hyde Park to calm my nerves. I stopped when I saw this student's…minions. I felt very, very afraid. Someone who should not have been in the park lurked anyway. I tried to hide behind a tree, but Mick and Nick spotted me. Next thing I knew I was waking up in the hospital after two days in a coma. I'd been shot in the forehead."

"Ouch."  
"It took me three years to recover. I am a medical miracle. In fact, I consented to traumatic brain injury research so I could help other victims recover." He chuckled darkly. "Which leads me to you."  
"Okay, I shot you in the head. I wanted to stop you from becoming Scarecrow. Also, I couldn't teleport Jack and I out of there. Listen, you aren't human. You're a…super-ghost."  
"Mick visited me in the hospital. He told me about Jack. Something about Jack being an evil ghost, like you. Which, of course, led me to the library. I found out what I am."  
"One of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse." I said acidly. "Pestilence, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes." He stopped at the light.

Then, he turned to face me.  
"Apparently, we all have Glasgow smiles." I said, feeling very sick. "You need antibiotics."

"I am Pestilence, of course I look rotten. I'm also known as _Conquest_." He grinned, showing blackened fangs and greenish-black gums. "I forgave you, Sophie. You awakened my true power."

"Good to know."  
"I want to form an alliance."  
"Why? I'm not a Horseman."

"You are, actually. Death, if I'm not mistaken."

"There's no way I'm _Death_. Look, I think there are more than four super-ghosts. The Bible just likes to put stuff in neat little boxes. Like the DSM."  
"Well, the DSM _is_ called the Bible of Psychiatry. So, will you work with me?"

"I'll think about it _after_ I find my mother."

"She _left_ you."  
"I think someone kidnapped her."

"Fine. Just don't cause me any trouble."  
"I never wanted any trouble."

"Well, we don't always get what we want…"


End file.
